


Interdimensional Invisible Strings

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amputee Stiles Stilinski, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annoying Eternal Optimist Hippie Stiles, Car Accidents, Construction Worker Derek, Dimension Travel, Douchebag Billionaire Playboy Stiles, First Kiss, Future Fic, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, Insecure Derek, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Lonely Derek Hale, M/M, Parallel Universes, Polish Stiles married with children, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski, Red String of Fate, Rule 63 Stiles/Lydia, Scarred Derek, Serial Killer Stiles, Several Parallel Versions of Stiles, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had a soulmate, tied to them by an invisible string of fate. When they met the one to whom they'd been tied, the red mark would appear around their left pinkie, and just about everyone had their mark before they turned thirty.</p><p>Derek was almost thirty-five when he woke up with a driving need to find someone named Stiles. He just had no idea his soulmate would take searching multiple parallel universes to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With a Name on My Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alis/gifts).



Derek woke up with a pull in his chest and a name on his lips: Stiles. Blinking the grogginess out of his eyes, he stared up at his ceiling in the early hours of the morning. The first colors of sunrise were peeking up over the horizon, and his room was awash in a soft hue of pink.

He hated it.

Sunrises meant a new day, and another day of being alone. Being alone was something he’d long since grown used to. Ever since he recovered from the burns he sustained in the fire that killed most of his family, he’d been closed off. With no friends and no family left alive, he was slow to trust, slower to love and accept, and just about everyone he knew was blissfully happy. The red bands on all their left little fingers had come in and stayed, eventually becoming permanent sanguine shades that said one thing: They’d found their soulmates.  All while his pinky was still bare.

He hated that, too. 

The more he had dwelled on it, the more he realized that everyone he’d ever known or heard of had found the one--in some cases more than one-- to whom that invisible red string connected, binding them together as perfect complements to each other, before they turned thirty. His thirty-fifth birthday was in just under two months, and he resigned himself that he just didn’t have a soulmate. It wasn’t a thing unheard of, just extremely unusual. 

But then he’d woken up today, and everything felt different. His left pinkie tingled in a way it never had before, in the way his sister Laura had described it years ago before her death. He sat up and rose from his empty, lonely bed, before shuffling into his bathroom with a yawn and a growling stomach.

His reflection looked much the same as it had every morning so far, the disfigured skin marring most of his torso from shoulder to hip. He hadn’t taken his shirt off around another person in almost twenty years. Yet, there was a lightness in his posture. He couldn’t explain it; it was just different, and at this point, different was a welcome thing.

  
  


***

 

The scenery outside Derek’s window passed by in a blur. Two days ago, he’d packed whatever he could fit into a suitcase, gassed up the Camaro Laura had left to him, and started driving. With no destination in mind, only a tugging sensation in his ribcage, he had no idea where this spontaneous road trip would take him. He knew that if he followed that invisible string far enough, his own mark would appear on his finger, and then, maybe, just maybe he’d eventually find peace, find happiness.

The Sierra Nevadas gave way to desert a day ago. He’d spent the night in a roadside motel outside of Elko, Nevada, stopped to stretch his legs near the Bonneville Salt Flats, and now as his car traveled along Interstate 70, he felt the air growing thin with the rising elevation. Windows rolled down, he reveled in the fresh and clean mountain air. He’d been born and raised in California and smog was something he’d never  _ not _ experienced. The scent of pine hung faintly in the air rushing through his windows, and with each mile he traveled, Derek had to admit that the cloud of loneliness that followed him everywhere was slowly dissipating. Not enough to truly make a difference….yet.

The radio, ironically, played John Denver, and he couldn’t help but sing along, fingers drumming on the steering wheel in time with the music.

“ _ Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forest and the streams, seeking grace in every step he takes. _

_ His sight is turned inside himself, to try and understand the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake. _

_ And the Colorado Rocky Mountain high, I've seen it raining fire in the sky. _ ” His head bobbed along, and his eyes focused on the steep incline ahead of him.

 

***

 

Hours on the road turned to days, turned to two weeks until he found himself pulling into long term parking at JFK International Airport. 

It hadn’t been a straight line; the tether dragged him through Detroit and back down through Tennessee. After he’d found his soulmate, he’d try to figure out why there had been a need to take the long way around, but right now? There were more pressing matters at hand.

Where he’d expected the pull, bringing him to an airport, to direct him to the ticket counter, he was more than a little surprised to find his feet moving on their own accord to Terminal 4 where the International flights came in. Well, maybe they were about to step foot in this country for the first time, or perhaps returning home. Maybe the stops in Michigan and Tennessee were places they’d once called home. 

However his feet kept moving, and without rhyme or reason, he stopped at Baggage Claim, one carousel in particular just as the alarm blared to alert passengers of incoming luggage. He glanced up at the monitor. What airport was OSR? Hell if he knew. So, he pulled out his phone and did a quick Google search. 

As he read, his pinkie pulsed several times. When no one from that flight made his hand buzz, he thought about it from a different perspective. Perhaps they weren’t coming here, but he was meant to go there.

Suddenly, he was glad he’d needed to renew his passport for work three years ago. 

Three hours and eighteen hundred dollars later, Derek found himself on the way to Ostrava, Czech Republic by way of Paris and Prague. With an eight hour flight ahead of him, he balled his battered leather jacket up against the window and tried to get some shut eye.

 

***

  
  


Bleary-eyed and far from bushy tailed, Derek stood in front of the service station in Leoš Janáček Airport Ostrava, his pinky pulsing once every ten minutes with a faint pink line. He learned the hard way that the feeling grew stronger when he got closer to the string’s intended destination. Sort of a ‘ _ you’re getting warmer _ ’ type of thing that had taken him an hour to figure out. 

He was far too tired and far too ignorant of Czech to understand what he was looking for, but as with most places, if you look confused enough for long enough,  _ someone _ will take pity on you.

“ Potřebuješ pomoc?”

Startled from his thoughts, Derek looked over at a young woman, no older than twenty-five with a kind face, staring at him with curious blue eyes. He had no idea what she’d just said, and he hoped his face conveyed his lack of comprehension. 

After a moment of awkward silence, a look of understanding crossed her face. “ Umíš česky? ”

“Um, I don’t know Czech. Sorry.”

She smiled and patted his hand where it lay, clutching the handle to his suitcase. “I speak English. Not perfect, but good. Do you need help?”

“Yes. I am trying to find my soulmate, and I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know that I’m supposed to find something here. Specifically right here, but I don’t know what this is.”

“Many workers here know English. But I can help.”

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

She shrugged. “My mother is arriving soon. I have to wait. I’m Milena,” she extended her hand for Derek to shake, and he couldn’t help but glance at his left hand as they shook. Damn, the line wasn’t solid. She was nice, pretty, but that would have been far too easy.

“Derek.”

“Well, this is like a public transit counter. You know? Where you buy bus fares and train tickets.”

He didn’t know where to go and told her as much. With a soft laugh, she offered to read the schedules to him to see if something plucked at his invisible red string. 

So, after Derek had purchased some snacks and a Coke for each of them from a nearby vending machine, they sat on an empty bench as Milena read through all possible public transportation schedules for him. Nothing. He felt nothing, that is until she picked up a train schedule. He had grown so frustrated by their lack of progress that he actually cackled in joy when she started reading.

“...all the way to Ciesyzn. That is in Poland.” She looked at his hand just in time for the pink line to appear and then disappear just as quickly. “It seems your soulmate is in Poland. Come on. I will help buy you a ticket.”

  
  
  



	2. Warning:Glowing Stones Should Be Handled With Care

When he stepped off the train in Ciesyzn, Derek wanted nothing more than to keep searching, but jet lag won out. The innkeeper at the Bed & Breakfast he rented a room in, was more than helpful, printing him out a Polish phrasebook (not that he understood how to pronounce any of it). She’d lent him an outlet adapter for his phone charger and told him breakfast would be served at eight.

Derek wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew it was better to stay awake until a suitable bed time. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched Polish television that he didn’t understand, abandoning it at six thirty for a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub. 

The jets churned the water in the bath, creating thousands of soothing bubbles to ease his aching body. On the little ledge built into the edge of the tub sat the second out of a six pack of Żywiec Porter he’d stopped to purchase as he walked from the train station to his hotel. The first had gone down far too easy, and he suspected the second would as well. He let his head loll back to rest upon the bath pillow and reevaluated his life choices up till that point.

Though he’d put almost no thought into this impromptu trip, and he was dead tired, he felt more relaxed than he had in years. Was that his soulmate bleeding through, lifting his burdens? He didn’t think so, but then again, he hadn’t done anything for himself in so long--denying all luxuries because he didn’t see the need--that perhaps it was just the fact that he was making an effort that had his spirits lifted. Whatever it was, he’d take it.

Finally, when his skin had begun to wrinkle and his eyelids started to droop, he climbed out of the now lukewarm water to towel off. He didn’t even bother to dress in pajamas before falling into bed, too weary from travel to make it to eight o’clock.

The next morning, with a full stomach and optimistic mood, Derek set off to explore Cieszyn and find the one to whom his soul was perfectly matched. As he suspected, his phrasebook was totally useless, because every word he tried to say sounded like he was speaking with a mouth full of marbles. Judging by the polite laughter he’d encountered so far, the citizens of Ciesyzn also thought he sounded silly. Whatever, he wasn’t trying to sightsee. He had a soulmate to find.

The problem with that silly invisible string was that it wove back and forth, up and down, tangling itself as it followed places your soulmate had traveled. Derek walked so long his feet were killing him, but he was restless, and the exercise was good for him. Being run ragged wasn’t such a bad thing. The town was quite beautiful, and he was sure that through the day’s excursions, he’d seen much it had to offer. He’d even stopped to eat a hearty lunch of pierogies and sausage at a small cafe. He sure was growing fond of Polish beer, so even if this only turned out to be a stop on his journey, he’d at least take that knowledge away.

Finally, as he passed a residential street, he felt a strong tug on the string, pulling his feet along down the road. The apartment building, or row house (he really couldn’t be sure), looked decent and in good repair. Window boxes holding various flowers and plants hung from many of the windows. Some of the windows had suncatchers in them, others colorful curtains. It felt like a place Derek could call home, because chances were, his soulmate at least had people that cared about them in their life, unlike him.

He sat on a stoop across the street and watched the building for a little while, trying to figure out a plan. About an hour later, the front door opened and out walked a man, and the first thought that passed through Derek’s mind was that the man was beautiful. There was no other word to describe those large, brown eyes, or the pale skin dotted with beauty marks. The slightly upturned nose and deep cupid’s bow of his lips gave the man a mischievous look that Derek admitted he found highly appealing. All at once, the rose colored line on his pinkie burned. 

Could this man be the one for whom Derek had been searching?

“Pre...prez-epra-shazam!” He called out, absolutely sure he’d just butchered what he’d been trying to say. 

 

“Przepraszam,” the man corrected and began to ramble in Polish. Derek stared at him, eyes wide like an owl’s as the words kept coming until he couldn’t stand to wait any longer and abandoned his attempts at Polish. Maybe he’d get lucky and this man would know English.

“I’m looking for my soulmate.” When the man look at him, brows drawn together, Derek pointed to his left pinkie and said, “Stiles.”

The man’s face light up at the name. “I Stiles,” he said, “Stiles Stilinski. Stiles is ksywka...a nickname.” Once more Stiles began to ramble in Polish eventually looking over at Derek and realizing that he wasn’t making any sense. “Nie mówię po angielsku… No English.”

Derek pointed to his pinkie again, and this time Stiles understood him and pointed to his own left hand where a dark and solid red line encircled his finger right next to his ring finger adorned with a golden wedding band. Derek’s own line wasn’t even permanent yet. He’d been so sure. This man was named Stiles. The string had brought him here, and it was a dead end. “ _ There are no dead ends in the string of fate, Derek, only knots _ ,” Laura had once said.

Stiles then brought out his wallet from his pocket and showed Derek the picture inside. “Magda,” he said and tapped his pinkie. So Stiles’ soulmate was a woman named Magda. “This Micha. This Daria.” He beamed with pride as he showed Derek his son and daughter. “Apology. Yes. You find,” he pointed to Derek’s pinkie, “okay?”

Derek gave him a warm smile even though his heart was breaking and let him be on his way. The high he’d been riding all day had come crashing down in an instant, and he retreated to the bed and breakfast, downtrodden and miserable.

He didn’t leave his room for two days.

 

***

  
  


Derek stared up through the canopy of golden and red leaves, sunlight glinting down through the gaps to the forest floor. He took a deep breath and set to work on his tent. 

After a week of wallowing, he decided to recharge his body and mind in the wilderness of Silesian Beskids. He’d purchased an ultralight tent, a hiking backpack and sleeping bag at a shop in town and then boarded a train once more, this time, he at least had a destination in mind instead of floundering like a fish while he figured out what to do. He left his suitcase at the bed and breakfast. He had never liked it anyway.

The strange thing was, the more he explored the park, the stronger the pull in his chest became. Perhaps he was meant to find that Stiles in Ciersyzn. Maybe Derek needed to know what it felt like to hit a snag so that he would know the difference when he actually did find his soulmate.

Once he settled in for the night and his stomach was filled with a delicious meal of beef jerky (the only thing he could find that wouldn’t spoil on his camping trip) and his last  Żywiec, Derek let sleep wash over him, his body tired from a long day of hiking. 

He roused sometime later, the circle around his finger almost on fire and pulsing constantly. Ignoring it turned out to be futile, and there was no way he was going to be able to go back to bed now. So he packed up his campsite and pulled out his flashlight. Was it smart to explore unfamiliar territory at night? Oh absolutely not, but Derek was not a patient man by any means.

Trudging uphill in the dark proved to be more challenging than he’d expected, and he found himself slipping on the uneven terrain more than once, the last time found him sliding down the hill, hands scrambling for purchase to no avail. He came to a stop, landing hard at the bottom of a ravine. With raw and wounded palms, he pushed himself up off the dirt. His mouth slowly filled with a ferric tang, and he brought his hand to his mouth, feeling the split in his tender lower lip. He spat the blood onto the dirt. 

His flashlight had been ripped from his hand in the tumble. Out of breath, he doubled over and propped his hands on his knees. Like the sun had done earlier in the day, moonlight shone down through the leaves, so at least he wasn’t blind. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of flashlight, his gaze fell on something that appeared to glow. What in the-

Limping over, without even noticing the pain in his ankle until that moment, he found the source of the strange light. There, on the forest floor, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror, sat a stone. He crouched down to get a closer look.

Oval shaped and about the size of his palm, the white stone had been polished to the point of shine. As he studied it, the stone began to glow brighter, clearer. The pale blue color changed, growing translucent like ice. Before he could stop himself, Derek picked it up. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting it to feel like, but hot--it almost burned him--was not it. He could see himself in its glossy surface, and then…

Everything went black.

 


	3. Water, Water Everywhere, but Not a Soulmate in Sight

Derek’s eyelids fluttered open, the world around him slowly coming into focus. With a groan, he tried to sit up. His head felt like he’d slept with it in a vice; it pounded, throbbed, felt like he was underwater. In truth, it felt like a hangover, which was odd, seeing as how he’d only had a couple beers. That should in no way knock him out. This was…

The events before he blacked out slowly came back to him. There was a stone, one of those fancy glow in the dark kind. Dropped souvenir perhaps? He glanced down at his hand still clutched around something cool, smooth, and hard. 

As he unfurled his fingers and took a good look at it in the sun, he could it was the same stone. Or at least he thought it was. Instead of glowing, the polished, oval stone was milky white with little veins of lavender mottled throughout. He vaguely remembered it being almost scalding last night when he held it, and now, strangely cool.

After several minutes, he managed to stand and took in his surroundings. Just like the night before, he was surrounded by trees, but they looked vastly different. Gone were the colors of autumn, replaced by giant evergreens that stretched far into the sky. Stranger still, was the way the denseness of the forest seemed to have vanished, leaving only a sparse thicket of trees.

He briefly wondered if he’d fallen quite a ways down the hill and wound up in a different area of the park. That concern vanished almost instantly when he stepped foot outside the ticket. No longer was he in the wilderness. Before him stood a city, the likes of which he’d never seen outside film and television. The small copse of trees he’d regained consciousness in seemed to be the only trees anywhere. Buildings, pretty much all of them, reached high into the clouds, higher than any skyscrapers he’d ever seen before as far as the eye could see. Shimmering pillars of steel and glass of various shades dotted the horizon, creating a veritable prism of colors reflecting into the sky. He didn’t even have a moment to process the scene in front of him before he felt the magnetic pull on his finger, on his chest. He followed it willingly.

The closer he came to the city, the more convinced he became that the stone he’d picked up was a time machine, because, the high speed trains zooming in and out of the buildings on elevated platforms, looked far more advanced than even the most cutting edge transportation. Heh, just his luck. His soulmate would apparently never be born in his lifetime, and what a fucking cosmic joke was that!

When he came near enough to observe any people, he noticed all of them, every single one, was dressed in blue. Everyone wore pants and a long tunic that came to the knees, somewhat resembling a kaftan. His jeans and green henley would surely stand out, but perhaps he could spin the ‘tourist’ story and make it believable.

"Welcome to San Angeles Francisco Population 37 million,” he read from the digital sign announcing the city limits. 

Had, in this time, the cities of Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco combined to be one large mass? And wait- how did he get from Poland to California? That was just too much for his mind to grasp.

A small group of about fifteen people stood at a small kiosk on the sidewalk, holding computer-like devices to the side of the stand. He watched as the screens flashed, and then they would press a thumb to a touch screen and be on their way. Was this the future’s version of a newstand? Hook up your device and pay by a thumbprint? 

Didn’t these people read Orwell? 

He shook his head and approached the vendor, praying that the official language of the country had not changed to something he didn’t speak. Spanish? Okay. French? Less okay. Mandarin? He’d be totally screwed.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a news kiosk?” the vendor asked him in an accent that sounded like a conglomeration of every North American accent Derek had ever heard, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl.

“I’m sorry. I am not from around here. I just want to check the headlines.” He surveyed the news screen ahead of him.  _ Monday, November 4th, 2024 _ . So...not a time machine. What in the- Wait a minute!

The Cubs won the World Series?

Without even thinking about it, Derek reached into his pocket and turned the stone over in his hand. 

He pulled his hand from his pocket and saw his soulmark, still pink, but glowing and solid. For lack of a better word, he was getting warmer.

“I’m having trouble finding my way around, and I seem to have lost my device. Where am I?”

The vendor confirmed his location, but then added, “You know...the largest city in the Unified Libertarian States of North America.”

Which...what? Then, it came to him. If it was the next day after he’d passed out, and the world was this different, then...it couldn’t be. Could parallel universes really exist? Or was there a very real, non-science fiction related explanation? Like, he was dreaming- definitely. He’d fallen in that forest and knocked himself unconscious. That had to be it.

With a groan and roll of his eyes, the vendor eventually gave Derek directions to the nearest library. Once inside, he wanted to cry.  _ Where _ were all the books? How could this be called a library if it had no books?

Did these people not understand the joy of holding a weighty tome in their hands, and the sense of accomplishment at finishing the last page? The thicker the book the more proud he’d always been to finish. It was like bragging rights with himself. And yeah sure, there were e-readers, but they never held the same appeal as the smell of opening an old book.

Unwilling to make a bigger fool of himself, he settled into the chair at an empty computer, tablet, information device...thing. After feigning illiteracy, he managed to get help from a librarian. Oh excuse him, Intellectual Materials Advisor. What kind of pretentious bullshit was-  _ ‘Stop that, Derek. Don’t be a dick, _ ’ Laura’s voice echoed in his head, because that was exactly the way she’d respond to his little comment. 

He began to search what he assumed was the internet--which in itself was troublesome as it seemed the Unified Libertarian States of North America, or ULSNA ( _ Wasted opportunity right there. Should have called it ULNA)  _ had developed an odd dialect of English that looked like a creolized version of Spanish, French and English--and the more he looked, the more he became convinced that this, all of this strange world, was not a dream. 

Holy shit. Parallel universes were real.

He managed to find a directory, and just for kicks, entered in the name Stiles Stilinski.  Since money, it seemed, was exchanged entirely by thumbprint, everyone was in a searchable database, and again...Orwell. 

 

**Search results returned: 1**

 

He clicked on the entry and found one Stiles Stilinski residing in a city called Windigan. The map he found showed that the city was essentially Detroit and Windsor, Ontario, combined into one town, much like the one in which he currently found himself. 

With no money and no national registration number, he wondered how in the hell he would manage to make it halfway across the country. As it turned out, not only were people in this universe naive in trusting everything about themselves over to the government and their fellow citizens, they were also way too nice.

It took all of four hours to convince someone that buying him a train ticket to Windigan was  _ the  _ charitable thing to do.

  
  
  


***

 

Derek stood outside the train station, staring out at Lake Saint Clair. He was not quite sure what he’d expected to see when he arrived, perhaps a polluted lake much the way the Hudson and East Rivers were. Instead, he found there was little water to be seen. It was there somewhere, but with hundreds if not thousands of houseboats floating with no more than ten feet between each one and its neighbor. For as far as his eye could see, there was no lake anymore. Just a massive floating suburb. Water roadways for small boat travel and docks and businesses that appeared to float on the water traversed the community. It was awe inspiring to say the least, and it certainly made the address he found make a lot more sense.

 

  1. **_Stilinski_**



**_St. James Canal Causeway HB W215_ **

**_31-54824-3 Windigan, ULSNA_ **

 

Once more, he found himself lacking funds. How was he going to find his way to wherever this universe’s Stiles lived?

Off to his left, he noticed an electronic bulletin board. Every couple of minutes or so, the display changed to show more postings. Curious, he crossed the platform and perused it with great intent. When he saw an ad saying ‘ _ Handyman Wanted,’ _ he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture for reference.

The address on the listing was on the mainland (thank God), and after an hour of wandering around lost and confused, he managed to stumble upon the correct street. With a shaking and nervous fist, he rapped on the door to a home in desperate need of repair.

The door opened a crack and an elderly woman peered out at him from the gap. “May I help you?”

Derek licked his lips. He knew what he looked like, had been told more than once he had the face of a violent man. “I saw your post about the handyman. I’m just looking for a couple days of work so I can pay the rest of my way to find my soulmate.” He showed her his wrist, and her wary and scrunched up face softened.

“What are your qualifications?”

“I work construction back home. I can’t help but notice you’re shutters could use a little care.”

She told him to meet her in the back of the house where she handed him the keys to the shed and a list that would take him forever to finish. 

“Do what you can in the couple of days. I don’t get around like I used to since my grandson passed away. You remind me a bit of him.”

He gave her a weak smile and went to work, forsaking the complicated power tools in the shed for the hand tools. Tools were like second nature to him, but there was no way he was going to figure out that cordless screwdriver anytime soon. The thing had at least twenty buttons on it. 

The hours in the day ticked by as he toiled under the autumn sun. When dusk began to fall, he shivered, his jacket not nearly warm enough for the climate in which he found himself, and a flutter of panic bloomed in his chest. Where was he going to sleep? Surely, he needed a place to stay for the night. Maybe he could find a bed in a homeless shelter.

Packing up the tools and stowing them in the shed, he was about to knock on the door to return the shed key when the back door opened.

“I have made some stew. Perhaps you’d like a bowl before returning to wherever you are staying.”

He didn’t want to correct her and seem overly needy, but his stomach had been yelling at him for hours to stop and find a bite to eat. “That sounds wonderful. I’d like that.”

He sat in relative silence as they ate as she kept conversation flowing. Mrs. Belanger, he learned, was a widow. Her husband had passed from cancer a decade before. They’d raised their grandson, Alex, when his mother abandoned him. The young man fell in with a bad crowd and sadly had overdosed on some drug Derek had never heard of a couple years ago. 

Reluctant to share much about himself, he did confide in her that he was alone as well, and older than anyone he’d known who’d received an invisible string. He couldn’t help but notice the darkened red line around her pinkie. She told him how she’d met Marc-Andre, her late husband, on a trip to Montreal as a teen, before her string had even started pulsing. When it had, it immediately grew solid and red. 

He absolutely was not jealous. Not at all.

Eventually as the meal came to an end, she needled it out of him that he had nowhere to stay for the night. In turn, she walked him outside and around the house to a staircase leading down to the basement. “When Alex was old enough, Marc converted the basement to an apartment. It’s been empty since Alex died, but everything is still functional. His things are boxed up, but there should be sheets in the linen closet. I’d show you around, but I’m not too good on stairs anymore.” She seemed to sense his reticence and added, “Don’t worry, Derek. Alex passed away in a hospital, not his apartment. I know you said you needed a few days of work, and you are welcome to stay here for that time. There’s a working washer and dryer for you to clean your clothes if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Such a sweet young man you are, Derek. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast in the morning about seven if you’d like. Sleep well,” she said as she left him.

The hot water of the shower felt amazing on his aching muscles as he let the grime of the day wash down the drain. As he waited up for his clothes to dry, the realization that his soulmate was somewhere in this strange city hit him like a load of bricks. Here he was, a million miles away (or perhaps not that many at all) in a world so different than his own, and any day now he might meet Stiles, the correct one.

 

***

 

Several days of hard work and a prefilled card with enough credits to get him to his destination later, Derek stood on the docks at the marina. The line ahead of him crept by slowly, as commuters stood, patiently waiting their turn to purchase ferry tickets. He tried his best to avoid small talk; he’d never been good at it anyway.

He noticed, though, that the people of this world didn’t seem to mind or partake in it much themselves. People stared ahead with unblinking, almost soulless eyes. Was it just the commute they made them this way or was it the culture? Did they work long hours for giant corporations, always feeling like the bug beneath a shoe? Though he’d been given a couple changes of clothes from Mrs. Belanger and no longer stood out like the first flower through the snow, he couldn’t help but notice how everyone just looked...the same. Just like the people of San Angeles Francisco, the residents of Windigan all wore pants and a tunic-type shirt. Only in this city, they wore purple instead of blue.

One by one, the Windiganians in front of him paid for their tickets and were on their way. When he handed the cashier his card, he was met with an unenthusiastic stare, the look of someone who knew they were in a dead end job with no way out. Not only that, the cashier looked at him like paying by card instead of thumbprint was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Hell, it probably was. Everyone ahead of him seemed to purchase their fares by thumb. 

He watch as the credits were subtracted from his card, and another plastic card of similar size slid through the slot in the window. There was no ‘thank you’ for his business. Nothing. 

The ferry was packed with people; Derek could find hardly any breathing room anywhere. Finally, he managed to find a spot on the railing near the top of the boat. It wasn’t much, but at least he wasn’t jabbed in the ribs every few seconds. It gave him a better vantage point, too, seeing as he had no idea how long he would be aboard or how far away Alatonka Station was.

The boat moved slowly as it pulled away from the dock. Now he hadn’t been on many boats in his life, but he swore they went faster than this one. Heavy congestion comprised of personal watercraft (which looked a bit like enclosed jetskis), small commercial boats used for deliveries, and various emergency and utility boats clogged the waterways. They moved slower than cold molasses.

Finally, four hours into his trip, the captain called out his station, and he exited the boat. For as opposed to small talk as the residents were, no one had any qualms about pointing him in the direction of St. James Canal Causeway. He had no desire to hire a water-taxi, so he ambled around until he found the right street. When he stood in front of a periwinkle house boat with an upper patio, his finger burned.  _ This must be the one.  _

With a shaky step and uneven footing, Derek stepped from the dock onto the boat, padding around until he found the door. He pressed the button for the doorbell. 

From inside, he heard a shout of “Just a second,” and waited nervously. Soon, the door opened and a woman with a short and spiky, teal colored haircut stared back at him. Though her face was a bit rounder, the sharp angles that made of Stiles’ face in his own universe softened, he could see the uncanny resemblance. Large and curious brown eyes took him in. The same mouth with a maddening smirk said hello, and for a moment he was frozen in place.

“Dude, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me what you’re doing on my boat?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

“I- um.” He cleared his throat. “I am trying to find my soulmate.”

“Oh aren’t we all. And what? You think I’m it for you?”

“Uh...yes?”

She reached out and grabbed his left wrist, holding it up in front of his face. “Looks like the string is wrong, buddy.”

He frowned as he looked at the line on his finger, still just pink. “Well, just give it a minute.”

Then, she held up her hand, the pinkie still bare, devoid of any color line at all. “Sorry. I think you made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“”But you’re Stiles right?”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Yep. One and only. Well...I mean my names Sylwia, but that sounds soooo much like the name of an eighty year old woman, and dude, look at me? Do I look like a Slywia to you?” 

He took in the rest of her appearance, and no, her extremely short denim skirt, deconstructed black tank top, and full-sleeve tattoos on both arms certainly did not suit the name Slywia. “You have a point there.”

“Damn straight.” She sighed. “Besides, like I know platonic soulmates are rarity in this world, but I’m not into men...like at all.” Just then, a petite redhead appeared beside her. “This is my girlfriend, Lydia, and I have no intentions of leaving her even for a soulmate.”

He licked his lips. “I understand. Sorry to bother you.”

Stiles waved him off and wished him well. Derek walked back down the dock where he stood dumbfounded. There had to be an easier way to go about this. Nevertheless, he found an alleyway off the causeway, which was merely a dock between two businesses. He assumed it was used for garbage collection. Whatever. It was good enough.

Again, he took the stone from his pocket, holding it in his hand tightly, and once more everything went dark.

  
  
  



	4. Never Been So Happy Taking a Wrong Turn

A harsh light hitting Derek’s eyes intermittently, brought him around. His eyes fluttered open and saw total darkness, except for a blinding beam of light every fifteen seconds. Waves crashed against rocks somewhere below him; he sat up with caution.

The source of the light, he could see, came from a lighthouse nearby. The next time it’s rotation came around to him, Derek looked out over the water and saw nothing as far as the eye could see. Nothing, but black, angry waves that pummeled the shore below. A glance down over the cliff provided a dizzying sight. He was high up, way too far for his liking. He turned around, taking in the rest of his surroundings. 

The only thing he could see on the landscape was trees, and a lot of them. However, a narrow road led through the forest. Curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the path.

Eventually, the darkness gave way to an offensive and cold glow. The farther down the road he walked, the brighter the light, until the form of a massive building began to take shape. About a hundred feet away, stood a sign inlaid in brick.

_ Shadow Island Maximum Security Penitentiary _

Under the lights illuminating the sign, Derek could see the way his pink line had darkened. Closer to red now than pink, he cursed his luck. 

After he left Windigan, it had been one mess of a universe after another. First, he woke up on the seediest corner of the dirtiest city he’d ever seen. Though the digital clock on a building across the street read 14:33, it looked like twilight outside. A thick blanket of smog hung so low Derek was sure that if he reached his hands as far over his head as he could, he would feel the haze kiss his fingers. Each breath made him feel like he’d just come back from a long run, winded and chest a little tight.

He’d never seen so many homeless people in his life, and it made his heart ache. The streets were filthy; trash littered the street, either from the many of overflowing trash bins or from careless citizens. Tenement housing occupied every block, most of it in various states of disarray. Junkies and drunks loitered on building stoops, their eyes bleak and bodies devoid of hope. 

Shops on the ground level, most of them dark and abandoned had graffiti scrawled on their facades. ‘ _ Hope is for the wealthy. Only the poor in Black Hollow’ _ the tags read, and based on what he saw around him, he believed it.

“You look lost, Sunshine,” a deep and husky voice had echoed behind him. When Derek turned and his finger buzzed, he saw Stiles, but he didn’t need an invisible string to tell him that. Those bourbon eyes had been the same in every version of Stiles he met. The black circles under his eyes, the way his skin clung to his thin frame, and arms riddled with track marks were vastly different.

“I can help point you in the right direction if you’re willing to pay for it,” Stiles had batted his eyes at him, pink mouth parted like a sin. “Twenty-five gets you oral; fifty gets the whole nine yards.”

When Derek had looked at Stiles’ left hand, fingers holding onto a lit cigarette, he saw the solid dark red line on his pinkie. His own mark was still pink. This Stiles couldn’t be his soulmate.

“No, thanks,” he’d said and hurried down the block, ducking into an alley to get the hell out of Black Hollow, and what a fitting name that had been.

After that, came the billionaire playboy, who never went anywhere without, not one supermodel on his arm but two. When Derek had approached him, he’d been looked at with such derision like the very thought of a regular person being his soulmate was abhorrent. 

Stiles had looked him right in the eye and said, “As if my soulmate could look anything like you. Either fate was laughing the day they connected us, sending a man my way as a joke, or you are the hairiest and ugliest woman I’ve ever seen. Soulmate or not, I have standards.”

Derek had stood there on that sidewalk as giant steel and glass monoliths sneered down at him, the bright city lights reflected in their faces, long after the snide laughter had faded. 

He was, once more, relieved to have come up short in his search.

The incubus was next. Lithe with a sinewy grace, eyes that could entice a person to ruin, and a voice that dripped sin like honey, there was no denying that the Stiles of that universe (one in which being supernatural was the norm) was charming. 

He’d bought Derek a drink and then another. After thirty seconds in the man’s presence, Derek already knew they weren’t a match. Stiles had shown him his hand where red ring after red ring after red ring ran from the tip of his little finger all the way up his arm and covered everywhere else on his body like translucent tattoos. “Every time I meet someone I truly fancy,” he’d said, “I get another. And every single one of them is a lie. And every time, you all eat up my words like candy you can’t get enough of.”

So yeah, Derek’s line was a little darker still, but not dark enough. He didn’t care. He’d let Stiles take him back to his place, firmly ready to let him drain his body of life-force. Only an accidental brush of his hand around the stone as it fell out of his pocket had saved him.

There weren’t enough words in any language Derek knew that could describe the hell that was the Stiles of the next universe. Cheerful to excess, exuberance oozing from his pores, and enough energy to power New York until the end of time, that Stiles came in like a whirlwind. He spouted philosophy about the beauty of life and how every moment was a joy and treasure.

All living creatures had souls to be cherished and respected, trees and plants had feelings, and every person on Earth was connected. When they met, he’d hugged Derek for at least two minutes, refusing to let go (Derek had no idea what to do with his arms). He’d told Derek he was reading his aura.

This went way past sunshine child and optimist.  _ That _ Stiles had been a ‘the glass is entirely full’ kind of guy. Even worse? 

The entire world was like that apparently. No crime. No wars. All disease was treatable, and the only way to die was through accidents or old age. Each new person he’d come in contact hugged him as well. One even told him he was a darling woodland creature in need of the medicine of aura cleansing.

In short, it was hell. Every damn second of it.

Then came three instances of Stiles with dead soulmates, where the mere mention of the whole soulmate concept had brought each to tears. Stiles on his deathbed (still not  _ Derek’s _ Stiles), hermit Stiles who shunned all human contact, Stiles the celibate monk whose soulmate was God, and Stiles the polygamist with 218 spouses (and four soulmates- none of them were Derek).

The point was, by now, Derek was exhausted with disappointment.

So of course, of fucking course, his soulmate was in prison. What other cruel joke could fate throw at him. However, a little voice inside him, chided that perhaps Stiles just worked there. Maybe his was a guard, the warden, the prison psychiatrist.

When approached the guards at the gate, they told him that visiting hours were over, asked how in the hell he found a ferry to the island this late at night. Derek shrugged and said he’d paid a lot of money for a private boat. Embarrassed, he added, “This will probably sound stupid, but I have been following my soulmate pull all over the world. It’s led me here. Do you happened to have an employee named Stiles Stilinski?”

The guards exchanged looks, and Derek swore one of them was holding back a cackle. It seemed though, that he must have looked pitiful enough, because one of the men put him out of his misery. “No. We have an inmate named Stiles Stilinski who is scheduled for execution tomorrow morning. Ergo, you  _ can _ get in to see him.”

The lump in Derek’s throat at that moment was one he couldn’t swallow or talk over. So, he merely nodded, and the heavy steel gates slowly opened.

 

***

 

Though his face was almost the same as the Stiles from his own universe, the Stiles staring back at him had a buzz cut, dark circles under his eyes, and a large scar marring his face. His eyes were filled with malice; the vicious sneer curled upon his lips was unnerving.

Separating them was a pane of glass. With a smirk and devious raise of an eyebrow he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

Derek was too afraid to look at his finger and the hot mark that burned upon it. “I think you’re my soulmate.”

Laughter had never sounded so cruel to him, but there was Stiles barking with glee at the irony of it all. “That’s rich. What a fucking joke. Did they tell you what I’m in here for?”

“No.”

“The press called me the Nogitsune. Care to guess how many people I murdered before they caught me?”

No, there was no way fate would deem a murderer as his soulmate. Derek was sullen and terse, but he was, more or less, a good person. He went to work, paid his bills on time, donated to charity when he remembered, held doors open for people. There was no way his perfect counterpoint in the world was a killer.

He chanced a glance down at his finger, breathing a tiny sigh of relief to see the ring unchanged in color. The pull was still tugging  him elsewhere. In his heart, he felt nothing but pure disdain for the version of Stiles in front of him. “No, actually I wouldn’t.”

“A whole hospital full of them. You’re not my fucking soulmate. I killed mine when I caught him in bed with someone else, and then I killed everyone else at that hospital he worked at. Hey, Jerry!” he called to the guard. “Get this clown out of my sight!”

Derek’s walk back to the gate was hurried. He couldn’t leave this world fast enough. The guard at the gate stopped him as he passed.

“Was that monster the one you were looking for?”

“No, thank God.”

He walked back towards the forest until he was far enough away to hide the glow of the stone. When he blacked out this time, it was a welcome relief.

 


	5. Right One Wrong Time

Derek awoke on a bench in a quiet section of a city park. Much to his relief, there were no giant buildings nor was there trash and graffiti. No giant prisons or anything else that left him drained before his search began. He stretched out his stiff limbs, enjoying the sounds of chirping birds and the temperate climate. Sunlight glinted through the trees, and this universe--at least so far--seemed the most like his own.

He prayed it stayed that way.

With only an intense magnetic sensation in his chest and on his hand, stronger than he’d felt yet, Derek strolled through the park. After so many bleak universes in a row, he relished in the sight of all the green. The park entrance opened up to a city sidewalk, a main street perhaps. Signs for various businesses lay in his line of sight. Signs that read things like ‘Beacon Hills Federal Credit Union,’ ‘Connie’s Cakes,’ ‘Beacon Hills Public Library,’ and ‘Replay Secondhand Clothing’ settled his nerves. He didn’t see anything about witches, exotic meats ‘now including human’, or aura transplants (thank god). Cars parked parallel spaces lined the sides of the street. People dressed much the same as he was walked about here and there. 

This universe felt the most like home of any one he’d found yet. Perhaps that was a good sign.

He’d walked no more than six blocks down the street when that familiar burning on his finger told him to stop in front of the door to a local diner. He pushed open the door and froze when his eyes fell on his left pinkie. His mark was now bright red and solid. Something in his gut told him this was the right world in which he would finally find his soulmate.

“What can I get for you, hon?” the server at the counter asked with a warm smile that reminded him of his mother.

He knew he had no money but sat down anyway. “I’m afraid I’ve come from a very, very, very long way away to find my soulmate, and I can’t afford anything here. I won’t be ordering anything, sorry.”

Her smile turned to one of pity when she saw his hand. “Well, you’ve got to be close. Mine looked just like that right before I found my husband. Do you like turkey?”

He gave her a small nod and thought nothing of it, but when she returned with a plate upon which sat the most appetizing turkey sandwich he’d ever seen in his life he couldn’t help but stare at the meal and feel jealous. She sat it down in front of him, sliding a chocolate milkshake next to him. 

“Here you go, son. It’s on the house.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “I own the place with my sister. Trust me, it’s nothing. If you must...when you find your soulmate and if you decide to stay here in our town, you can pay for your meal some other time. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in a while.”

It was true, he had to admit. 

As he sat at the counter, eating his lunch in bliss and swallowing most bites without chewing sufficiently, he heard a man talking somewhere in the restaurant. Most of their conversation Derek had tuned out, but the last thing he’d said caught Derek’s attention.

“Dad, I don’t care what it means. Okay?”

Another man, with a voice that came from wisdom, said. “‘But it’s a solid line now. That’s different.”

Something in the younger man’s words made Derek glance down and his hand and the blinking red ring. He swore his heart stopped beating in his chest.

“I don’t care. Who in their right mind would want someone like me?”

“Son, you know that’s not true. You’re a great catch. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Look at me! Fucking look at me. If you came searching for someone who was supposedly your be all and end all and saw a broken person who wasn’t even whole anymore, would you want them? I’ll see you next week, Dad.”

“Stiles-”

Derek jumped up from his chair, abandoning what remained of his lunch and hurried in the direction of the voices. He arrived too late, seeing only the fleeing form of a man as he walked out the side door. There was only one occupied table in that section of the restaurant, and a man in a police uniform was seated staring at the door. Even though Derek could only see the back of the officer’s head, he could see the way his posture slumped, could hear the exasperated sigh.

Derek couldn’t stop himself though as he walked towards the door in a daze. Everything in him said he had to follow- needed to- shouldn’t let the man get too far. 

“Something I can help you with?”

Derek spun around and looked at the cop. His eyes flitted to the nametag below the man’s shield: Stilinski. “Uh…” His mind had gone completely blank. Words failed him

“That looks fresh,” the man said and pointed to Derek’s hand.

Now blood red, the mark kept blinking. He knew what that meant; he’d been with Laura when she’d met her soulmate. It had done exactly the same thing. He’d found him. “‘I- uh...that was my soulmate.”

With a wave of his hand, Officer Stilinski invited Derek to sit at his table. “What’s your name, son?”

“Derek. Officer Stilinski, are you Stiles’ father?”

“It’s Sheriff, but please, call me John. Yes, I am. How old are you, Derek?”

Derek thought for a while. “That depends, Sir.”

“On?”

“What today is. I’ve been travelling for what seems like years. Hell, I might have been.”

John nodded. “It’s May 15th, 2026.”

“Wow, that long?” He’d lost a year and a half. “I’m, uh, thirty-six.”

“Stiles turned thirty-one in November. Where are you from?”

“Well…” Derek rubbed at the back of his neck. How was he going to explain this? “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time. Try me.”

Derek looked up as the server from the front counter walked over carrying the rest of his meal. “Seems like you forgot something.”

“I’m sorry. I got distracted.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

He calmed his nerves with a few bites. “Monterrey, but I’ve been around the world searching for him.”

“Stiles, he’s...not the same as he used to be. About a year and a half ago, he was in a serious accident, got hurt real bad. He’s changed. I know he’s lonely. He changed his work schedule so he works from home, and I only get him out of the house once a week,” he sighed. “He refuses visitors. He’s my son; I worry about him. Do you have children?” Before Derek could answer, John answered his own question. “Forgive me. That’s none of my business.”

Derek munched on a potato chip. “I know what it’s like to be lonely. My, uh- I lost my family, all of them except my older sister when I was sixteen. I lost her about five years ago. I don’t have any friends anymore...I didn’t cope with Laura’s loss well. And I know what it’s like to be injured badly. Maybe that’s why it took so long for my red string to pull on me. It was waiting for someone to need me.” 

Across from him, a smile played on John’s lips as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper, passing it over. “That’s my address. Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night at seven? I suppose being on the road for as long as you have, you’re probably running low on cash. I tell you what. Go see Jimmy down the street. He owns the Beacon Lodge Motel. Tell him I said to put you in a room, and I will be by tomorrow to give him my credit card.”

“You don’t-”

John furrowed his brow. “Nonsense. You’re my son’s soulmate whether he wants to admit it or not. I’m not about to let you go without a place to sleep for the night. Now, as much as I’d like to sit and get to know you better, my lunch break was over twenty minutes ago. I left a rookie fending the front desk. Perks of being the boss I guess. Lord knows I’ve put enough hours there over the years. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek shook his hand but got the distinct impression John wanted to hug him.

 

***

  
  


No sooner than his knuckles had rapped against wood, than the sound of an argument moved into the room on the other side of John’s front door.

“Dad, it’s bad enough you dragged me over here in the first place. Now you want me to meet someone you think I should date!”

“Stiles,” and the exasperation in the man’s voice was so thick anyone could hear it, “he’s perfect for you. Please, just trust me.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want to meet anyone you think I should date’ do you not understand?” Stiles shouted. “I don’t care that you think he’s perfect for me! I want to be alone! Do you get that?” The way Stiles’ voice broke on the word alone almost broke Derek’s heart, and he hadn’t even met him yet.

“Son, I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah, and what am I doing?”

“You’re pushing everyone away, me, Melis-”

“Don’t! Don’t do that. You know she doesn’t want to see me, not after…”

“Stiles, she knows it wasn’t your fault. She doesn’t hate you for surviving; I promise you that.”

“You know nothing, Dad.”

Moments later, the front door opened and Derek stood face to face with John, who looked like the argument with his son had been going on for far longer than the bit he’d just overheard. “Why don’t you come in, Derek?” He leaned forward and whispered, “He’s a little upset. Don’t take it personally.”

John ushered him into the dining room, where Stiles stood in a defensive position, his arms folded against his chest. Derek’s eyes took their fill of him. Even ten feet away from him, he could see the clearness in his eyes, the broad strength in his shoulders. Forearms that were corded in defined muscle stuck out against the black fabric of his t-shirt. Smooth, pale skin with nary a fine line was kissed by moles. He looked far younger than his thirty-one years. For someone who’d been in a severe accident he didn’t look-

Then he saw it. The red basketball shorts he wore hid nothing, especially not the grey mechanical prosthetic where his left leg should have been. Derek didn’t care in the slightest, because in that moment, he felt the invisible string between them go taut. He didn’t even need to look to know that the line around his finger was no longer blinking but had settled permanently onto his skin, dark red and complete. That restlessness in his chest evaporated in an instant, and there was nowhere else in any version of any world he’d rather be.

His feet stepped forward on their own accord.

“Stop right there!”

Derek couldn’t take his eyes off him. His heart pounded in his chest.

Stiles glared at him. “What’s the matter? Never seen an amputee before? Take a picture it will last longer.” When Derek didn’t look away, Stiles snapped. “Go ahead, call me a cripple! It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard it! Get it over with and leave so I can go back to feeling hideous!”

“But...you’re beautiful, perfect,” Derek’s voice sounded as awestruck as he felt.

Stiles’ eyes welled up. “Stop it!” He turned to his father. “Dad, whatever you paid him to say this to me-”

John held up his hands. “I didn’t pay him anything.”

“Don’t you feel that? That tugging, the warmth? I have come so far to find you.”

“Monterrey isn’t that far.” When Derek’s mouth fell open, about to ask Stiles how he knew that, the man beat him to the point. “Oh yeah, my dad filled me in a little!”

“Monterrey, yes.” Derek pulled out his phone and turned on the screen. “But Monterrey from thirty-seven different universes ago.” 

“Parallel universe travel? Do you really fucking expect me to believe that?”

He showed Stiles the phone, scrolling through each picture of Stiles that he’d been able to snap. “Your version of Earth is surprisingly similar to mine, except your sky is lavender not blue. There aren’t five Great Lakes but three. You elect your presidents every six years, and you put a lot more emphasis on protecting the environment than they do where I came from. Thirty- seven other versions of you, and I have never felt more alive than I do right now.”

Stiles continued to stare at the pictures of the other Stiles’, and Derek took note of the way he made sure to hide his left hand. “And what? I’m supposed to just fawn over you and how fate just picked someone for me?”

“No, but you lost a leg.” Derek’s fingers trembled as he went for the hem of his shirt. He felt his chest tighten when he exposed his chest. “I’ve had excessive skin grafts and reconstructive surgery.” He pointed to his nipples. “See these? They’re only tattoos. No one has seen my chest since I was sixteen. I have  _ never _ had sex with my shirt off.” 

He watched a complicated series of emotions cross Stiles’ face. First, it twisted in what Derek could only hope was not repulsion (God, that would gut him if it was). Then, his eyes turned downwards.  _ That _ , that right there was pity. He’d seen that one enough on Laura’s face after the fire. Then, a slight twitch in his lips which Derek read as a bit of Schadenfreude or perhaps relief that someone looked worse than he did. Underneath all of that, was conflict, like Stiles wanted to allow himself to let someone in, but at the same time, the overwhelming desire to push them all away. Derek knew that one  _ all  _ too well. “You feel ugly; well so am I. But together… Why can’t we make something beautiful together? Just get to know me. You’ll see.”

“Fine.”

Dinner was awkward at best, with Stiles offering one or two word answers for any question Derek asked. In turn, he didn’t want to say too much and scare Stiles away. When he made the mistake of asking about the accident, Stiles went silent.

“It was a motorcycle. His best friend, Scott, picked him up at work when his car wouldn’t start. Drunk driver hit them. Scott...well he didn’t make-

Stiles’ chair clattered to the floor when he stood up in a huff. “Stop it, Dad!”

“Stiles-”

He scrubbed his right hand down his face. “I can’t do this. Nice to meet you, Derek, but I’m not your soulmate.”

How, how could his heart be breaking over someone he just met? They were two broken bodies, swimming in loneliness. If only Stiles would give Derek a chance to show him how much he could love him. Sure, he was grumpy and terse, but with no one else to shower all that affection on, Stiles would never feel anything but treasured.“Yes, you are. I know that with absolute certainty.”

“Just leave!”

Derek tried not to show how the dismissal reached inside his chest and wrapped itself around his heart, crushing it in its cold steel hands, but it hurt. It hurt like hell.

John patted Derek on the shoulder and told him that tonight was not the best time. “Perhaps you can come back in a few days.”

He nodded and rose from his chair. He didn’t even make it out of the dining room before Stiles called after him.

“No, don’t come back. Find someone who deserves you!”

Derek was done. To have come so far only to be rejected...he just wanted to go home maybe find someone who’d lost their soulmate. He could, at the very least, be some version of happy that way. The first step outside had him reaching for the stone in his pocket.

 

***

 

Fate, it seemed, worked in cruel and mysterious ways, because he woke up in his motel room, the very same motel room (his backpack was right where he left it along with his wallet), two days later. So he grabbed his backpack and tried again.

The same thing happened. It happened two more times, and then on the fourth try...nothing. 

That was the straw that broke his back, and he gave up. He was apparently never getting back to his own universe, and he would probably die alone. Nonetheless, he had to do something and continue living. Getting a job, would be the first step. So when he’d checked into the motel, he’d noticed the help wanted sign on the front desk. 

So he walked down to the office and convinced Jimmy to hire him to be the new handyman, despite the fact he didn’t have proper identification or a work card (he’d have to ask John for help in that area). Jimmy had said Derek wouldn’t have been the first undocumented immigrant he’d hired, said they needed jobs, needed to eat just like anyone else.

After Derek told him he’d take a lower salary if he let him live in the room he’d checked into, it was settled. And so, Derek began his new life in Beacon Hills, almost two years older and twice as miserable as when he’d left home.

Day in and day out, he fixed things around the motel, did minor landscaping and plumbing repair work. Day in and day out, he returned to his room, lonely and unfulfilled. He was on a first name basis with the librarians at the public library, devouring books like the world was going to end tomorrow.

He existed, but he wasn’t really living, and he wondered if Stiles felt the same. If he was, how could he possibly stand the ache?

  
  
  



	6. In the Eye of the Beholder

Stiles opened the fridge, sliding his perishable goods onto the shelves. When his father had dropped off his groceries for the week, he’d tried to convince Stiles to go grab dinner with him.

Every week it was the same, and every week Stiles said no. Honestly, it wasn’t as though he didn’t want to spend time with his dad. He just didn’t see the need to leave the house in order to do it. 

His dad had tried to offer his fatherly pearls of wisdom, but by now, Stiles was tired of hearing them.  _ ‘It isn’t healthy _ ,’ he said.  _ ‘You need to put yourself back out there in order to make new friends _ ,’ he said. ‘ _ I just want you to be happy, son _ ,’ he said. The point was, his father said a lot of things, and hearing them, as true as they might be, didn’t make Stiles feel any better. He knew his reclusion wasn’t healthy, nor did it help his recovery.

He didn’t care. 

Leaving the house, making new friends, and being happy wouldn’t bring his leg back. It wouldn’t relieve any of his debilitating self-loathing. It certainly wouldn’t bring Scott back. They’d been friends for twenty-five years, thick as thieves, two peas of the same pod, and every other cliched idiom he could think of.

With uneven steps, he went to grab the last bag off the table. Usually, his dad set all the bags on the kitchen counter, but today, well today had been an exceptionally bad day for Stiles, and he’d snapped at him, spouting things like  _ ‘I’m not a child!’ _ and ‘ _ Stop treating me like I’m helpless and made of glass, Dad!’ _

He’d immediately regretted his words, even more so when he saw the way his dad’s face fell. 

That morning he’d woken up and his leg felt like it was on fire...his left leg, the one that wasn’t there anymore. His doctor had told him when he woke up from surgery and first complained about it, that the ‘phantom pain’ usually decreased in frequency, and by six months post-op, would be gone. Unfortunately, he was one of the ones whose missing limb continued to ache.

Lucky Stiles.

Then, there was a car accident down the street, the noise of which sent him into a panic. He fell trying to get out of the shower and now sported a massive bruise on his back. In order to see the damn thing and check for damage, he had to uncover the bathroom mirror.

He looked terrible, with pallid skin, black bags under his eyes, and a hollowness in his gaze. He tried not to look at his leg, but how could he not? It was hideous, that carbon fiber... _ thing _ laughing back at him. 

The mirror, he swore it screamed as it shattered when he threw his electric razor at it.

Maybe he could just hide in his bedroom for the rest of his life with a blanket over his lap. The world was cruel, and he was tired of hurting.

Still, he shook himself out of his daze, and resumed putting away his groceries. Once the two boxes of cereal and packages of pasta had been stowed, he could finally see into the bottom of the bag. Inside, was a folded piece of paper. He sighed as he opened it to see his father’s hasty scrawl.

 

_ ‘Son, I know what you said, but I’ve been a cop for a long time, and I’m good at my job. I wouldn’t get anywhere if I wasn’t good at reading people. I know you lied to Derek, and I know why you did it. But over the last couple months, I’ve also noticed how much worse your mood has been. I’m worried, Stiles. I’m worried that you’ll quit letting me visit. I hate seeing you like this, and I’m not talking about the leg. I hate seeing you hate  _ **_yourself_ ** _. Please...don’t- _

_ I almost lost you once; I don’t want to outlive my son.’ _

 

Stiles crumbled the paper in his hand and acted like he was about to throw it across the room. Instead, he clenched the balled up note in his palm and pressed his closed fist against his mouth. 

He flung the note away from him like it had burned him. Even though it was only five in the evening, he was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was always tired now, tired and empty, all except that nagging tightness that started in his chest, looped around his little finger and tried to draw him out of his shell. If he followed that line, he knew where it would lead. His dad made sure to drop little details about Derek into their conversations.

As he walked down the hall towards his bedroom, Stiles kicked at a shoe in frustration. He lost balance and hit the carpeted floor hard. Though he tried as hard as he could to keep from falling apart, he failed. Lying there staring up at the ceiling, he finally broke.

Great heaving sobs washed over him. He cried for his lost best friend. He cried for the loss of joy and humor in his life. He cried over worrying his dad. He cried about the way he looked, and he cried a little over nothing at all.

Mostly though? He cried about the red line on his finger.

Standing there in his father’s dining room, Derek had looked at him, truly looked at him, saw what he was and told him he was perfect. Despite the anger and self-hatred, the way he’d screamed at him, telling him to leave, the man had told him he was beautiful. Derek had shown him scars of his own, and-

“Fuck!” he screamed into his empty apartment.

As he lay there weeping, he gave into his exhaustion, falling asleep on the floor in his hallway with tears in his eyes and an ache in his chest that for once had nothing to do with what he’d lost. 

It had everything to do with what he’d pushed away.

  
***

 

A crack of thunder rattled the windows of Derek’s motel room, rousing him from his sleep. He sat up in bed and looked around the pitch black room- not that he could see anything. His elbow smacked on the corner of the nightstand when he tried to find the switch.

“Son of a-” Hissing in pain, he finally managed to turn on the light. He rubbed the center of his chest where a dull ache had started early that morning and not relented. 

Since that moment the string between him and Stiles tightened, there had been many feelings like this one, the sensation that what he was experiencing in that moment, was not a result of his state of mind, but  _ Stiles’ _ . He imagined the same thing could be said for his emotions influencing Stiles.

The last couple days, however...even though he’d been rejected, Derek couldn’t help but feel connected to him. He supposed that staying in contact with John didn’t help either. By now, he truly felt like he knew Stiles. 

It wasn’t the same though. He wanted to hear these stories firsthand. Still, he was worried and had to do something.

Still without a license or car (he was working on it. Though thankfully, he had identification papers courtesy of a connection John had with the FBI), he tugged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His shoes were going to get drenched, but similar to the day he woke up with Stiles’ name on his lips, there was no way he could ignore the pull anymore. He thought he’d be able to.

The rain, which was colder than he expected, pelted him, soaking his clothes in no time at all. It was going to be a long miserable walk to Stiles’ apartment. 

However, he’d walked less than thirty feet from the edge of the motel property when a jeep skidded to a stop beside him on the street. The door opened and Stiles practically fell out of the vehicle in his haste to get free.

“I’m so sorry, Derek. I’m so- I can’t take it. I lied. I lied. I-” Stiles took a shuddering breath and hobbled over to him, tripping over the edge of the curb. 

“Whoa, whoa. I got you. Are you okay?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I-um...I didn’t put my leg on correctly. It doesn’t matter. I was in a hurry. I had to see you. I’m so sorry. So sorry. Please, I was lying.”

“About what?” Derek asked, but he had a feeling he knew what Stiles would say.

“When I told you to leave. I felt it,” he said, holding up his left hand and the dark red line visible under the streetlamp.”

A car splashed through a puddle as it drove past, its tires sending a wave of water towards them. Derek pulled Stiles out of the way of the spray. 

“I know it’s been a couple months since I told you to go, and you’re still here. So you probably aren’t going anywhere, but please don’t leave.” Derek could hear the  _ ‘Don’t leave me _ ’ hidden in his words plain as day. Stiles took a shuddering breath and paused to collect himself. “Did you mean it?”

Derek furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand.”

Water dripped from Stiles’ bangs into his eyes, and he blinked them away, licking his lips. “Do you remember the first thing you said to me?”

He nodded. 

“Did you-”

“Yes. You are- You...yes, Stiles. You are bea-”

His words were cut off by Stiles’ wet lips upon his own, and Derek felt all the air leave his lungs in an instant. Standing there on the sidewalk, Stiles kissed him with reckless abandon, his hands clinging to the sodden fabric of Derek’s shirt like a life preserver.

Stiles pulled back and stared at him. “You were the last thought in my head before I fell asleep and the first thing on my mind when I woke up. I just couldn’t let myself have this or you, because I...hate the way I look now. But you said I was perfect.” 

“You are,” Derek said, cupping his face, running his thumb along his jaw. “Just what I needed. I had to wait so long for my string to appear because until your accident...I wasn’t what you needed.”

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky around them, and the clap of thunder that followed soon after had them breaking apart.

“We should-”

“Get off the street,” Stiles said, finishing Derek’s sentence. “Bit dangerous to be standing out in a lightning storm.”

“And the water can’t be good for your prosthesis.”

“It’s waterproof,” he chuckled.

They climbed back into the jeep, Stiles driving it into the parking space in front of Derek’s room. No sooner had the tires come to a stop than Derek hurried around to the driver’s side to make sure Stiles didn’t fall out of it a second time.

They crashed into Derek’s room, their dripping clothes soaking the carpet by the door. The door hadn’t even latched behind them before Stiles was yanking his shirt over his head. Derek hesitated at the hem of his, though.

Stiles stepped forward and took his hand, pulling it away from his shirt. “Do you want me to turn around so you can put on a dry one?”

He wanted to say yes, but he could do this. If there was ever going to be someone he would let see his scars in all their glory, it should be his soulmate. “No. Will you take it off me?”

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and he grabbed the wet shirt with both hands, carefully tugging it up over Derek’s head. When Stiles’ fingers brushed the marred skin underneath, Derek flinched. Besides his own hands, he’d felt nothing but a doctor’s clinical touch upon his scars. When Stiles began to pull his hands away, Derek stopped him. “No, it’s okay. Just new.”

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, leaning in close. “You’re beautiful, too.”

They stripped out of the rest of their wet clothes, and when Stiles sat down on the edge of the bed to fuss with his leg, muttering something about needing to just adjust it and they’d be good to go, Derek knelt in front of him.

“Can you show me?” he asked, tapping his fingers against the socket. “How do you take this off?”

Another smile, this one larger and came with teary eyes, spread across Stiles’ face. “You just undo this buckle here, and then there’s a strap.” Stiles waited for him to do both steps before continuing. “Then you pull it off. Simple as that.” The prosthesis was lighter than Derek expected it to be, only about ten pounds. He carefully set it aside and returned his attention to Stiles and the odd silicone-like sock on his leg. Stiles apparently noticed his confusion. “Oh that thing? It’s a liner. It helps create a vacuum seal so my leg doesn’t fall off. It’s just easier if I take it off myself.” Derek watched with rapt attention as Stiles rolled the silicone liner off, handing it to him. 

He could tell that Stiles was nervous as he looked at the residual limb, but Derek let his hand hover over the bare skin, waiting for Stiles to nod before touching him. He glanced up to see Stiles’ worried face, as though he was waiting for Derek to reject  _ him _ or show some sign of repulsion. Instead, he surged up his body to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss. 

They tumbled back onto the bed, where Stiles pressed apologies into Derek’s skin with his lips, tender and curious.

“You don’t need to apologize. I tried to leave and get back to the universe I came from, but it kept bringing me back to yours. Seems we weren’t ready for each other yet, and our story wasn’t finished.”

Stiles pulled him against his body, arms wrapped tightly around him. “Yeah.” 

Wrapped in his arms, a tangled mess of bare skin, Derek took their time to learn his body, to memorize every scar, mole, every hard line. Stiles, it seemed, craved nothing more in that moment, than to do the same.

Fate had tied them together, deemed each of them the other’s missing piece, but it was Derek that had searched over three dozen worlds for him, worlds filled with heartache and disappointment. Now that he’d found him,  _ his _ Stiles, he intended to love him with everything he had, and they had they rest of their lives to discover just how perfectly they fit together. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As I said in my ask, my first attempt at your gift crashed and burned (it was so so bad). So while this is from your list of tropes you love and not your prompt, I hope this fic brightens your day and is everything you wanted as a gift.


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